


Moonache

by andstarswillscream



Category: Bloodborne (Video Game)
Genre: Blood, Blood Kink, Blood and Gore, Canon Typical Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, Gore, Immortality, Knifeplay, Nonbinary Character, Other, Painplay, Rough Sex, Temporary Character Death, The Beast Scourge is Upon Them, The Hunter plays with immortality, gore porn, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-05-19 12:02:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19356649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andstarswillscream/pseuds/andstarswillscream
Summary: Alfred traced lines over their soft skin with the tip of the blade, and it sang to him, as their blood did, as the moon and the hunt and the old blood sang and bellowed and beckoned. As their scent settled over him, overpowering, heady.





	Moonache

A tremble pulsed through the Executioner at the sight before him. The Hunter had come to him, sweaty and trembling, a wild look in their eyes. Thick blood oozed from a wound in their side, the scent heady.

Intoxicating. 

He pressed his hands to it, aching to feel. To taste. To deepen the wound, to let their precious heat spill over him.

He settled for licking his newly bloodied fingers. He could feel the Hunter's eyes burning into his own. He looked up at them, and there was a moment of understanding.

It was always in the eyes. With the collapsing, decaying pupil comes the scourge. He'd felt it upon him in the past, but was able to restrain himself from acting out his most depraved desires. 

Until he'd met the Hunter at least, blood-drunk and wild. Brutal. Irresistible.

The Hunter, blessed, moon-scented, ethereal, immortal, pressed a knife into his hands. They bared their chest to him, their soft, glowing flesh. They straddled him, hovering just above where his pants felt entirely too tight. Teasing him with swaying hips, pleading vulnerability. Alfred shivered, no longer sure if it was from the cold night settling over the pair, or from the burning heat between them. Their eyes soft, betraying the ache behind their chest, at their core.

Ruin me, they had said. Take me apart.

Alfred traced lines over their soft skin with the tip of the blade, and it sang to him, as their blood did, as the moon and the hunt and the old blood sang and bellowed and beckoned. As their scent settled over him, overpowering, heady.

He broke skin. Blood oozed, slow. Bright red and glistening. The Hunter shuddered above him, pressing closer. Alfred dragged the blade across, hands sweaty. His eyes grew wild as something familiar took hold, some base, primal need.

Shameful. Barbaric.

He supposed, a hunt makes beasts of us all.

The Hunter whimpered, something choked and needy. Alfred continued to cut, less careful now, as his hands trembled. Blood coated the knife, spilling over them both. It soaked into his white church garb, hot red blossoming over his erection. He growled, low in his chest, slipping his fingers into the wound. The Hunter jerked, rubbing themself harder against his need now, leaning back and displaying their carved skin to him now. He tugged it open, and open it did, the Hunter spilling out onto his lap, all viscera and ooze and intoxicating vulnerability. 

The Hunter keened, and the moonlight over their bared, bleeding flesh made them glow. He dropped the knife in his reverence, grabbing their face in his bloody hands and kissing them harshly. Biting at their lip, their tongue, anything he could get his teeth on. 

He pulled away, only to shove his fingers into their mouth, forcing them to taste the sweet blood he'd wasted.

His other hand dropped lower, to the intestines spilling into his lap. He weaved them between his fingers, squeezing and tugging, his hand trembling as the Hunter moaned raggedly, a mix of pain and need, tasting their own blood on him. 

The scent of it all, the sin of it all, was enough to make him sick.

He thrust his hips up, hard against them now, jostling the tender, pulsing organs that splay between them. He tugged harder on them as he withdrew his hand from the Good Hunter's mouth, driving it into their exposed body cavity, pressing his fingers against the walls of it. The Hunter above him clutched his face and buried it into their chest, fingers digging into and pulling desperately at his hair.

He growled, seeking out a breast and biting its soft flesh. They moaned, yielding beautifully to him. 

Alfred lost patience, somewhere between the Hunter bucking their hips, between the pulsating flesh between them, between the lust that coursed through him. 

His hands left the Hunter's bloodied, aching viscera, clasping around their thighs and forcing them onto their back, intestines untangling ever further. He forcefully rubbed his aching erection on them, feeling the tender organs give and pulse with life on the head of his cock. The Hunter cried out, as he gathered up the ropes, squeezing them and laying them back upon their body, not quite within the cavity, but enough so that they did not drag all over the ground.

Alfred tore off his pants, need coursing through him. He pinned the Hunter so beautifully beneath him, their intestines warm on his thighs and sack. He braced himself on the stone altar, dragging his cock against their intestines, before driving it into their body cavity, feeling their sticky warmth flood over him. They drew in a sharp breath, as he dragged his hard cock against the walls of their being, crying out his name as their viscera tangled around him, pulsing and hot and aching. He snarled, a noise so feral and needy, so beastlike, had he been in any other state, perhaps it would have frightened him.

For now, the blood had him.

His tender, moon-scented Hunter. They begged, for release, for him to come, for his cock deeper within. He obliged, driving it further, between their ribs. They would have gasped, or cried, if he had not driven the air out of their lungs in doing so.

Their soft, wet heat, the beating and pulsing, it proved to be too much for him. Alfred came, his seed coating their organs, filling their most intimate parts with something uniquely his. Marking them, from the inside out.

They gathered their breath, all trembles and shock and pain, covered in their own blood and viscera. He could feel them dying around him, and he clung to them, a silent plea to stay, to return. 

He was soon left with only their precious blood and the knowledge of his deepest sin to comfort him.


End file.
